


Karacosis Wutanis

by stelleappese



Category: Jurassic World - Fandom
Genre: (well Simon is flirting Henry's just being kinda creepy), First Meeting, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry does make an impression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karacosis Wutanis

**Author's Note:**

> According to canon, the Karacosis Wutanis (or 'Wu Flower') is a new spacies of plant created by Henry Wu and his team in 1997, combining several species of plant. It was what caught the attention of Simon Masrani and led to him buying InGen the following year.

Classical music is playing softly in the background, the crystal notes of a piano accompanied by the low murmurs of a violin echo in the huge room, rise to the glass dome on top of it, from which sunlight rains down generously. The people swarming in the room don’t speak much, and when they do, they merely whisper, they tap each other’s shoulder and move closer when they want to talk. Henry understands why they feel the need to do that: he himself is still in awe of what he’s done.

He can see Sylvia standing near the red silk cordon that surrounds the specimen. She looks positively radiant, thick curls tied up in a high ponytail bouncing like a fluffy halo; she talks to people, explains things, answer their questions, like there’s nothing in the world she’s rather be doing. Monica is there too, along with Christopher, quietly hanging out in a corner; they’re not really people persons, they feel more comfortable with their eyes stuck to a microscope, but they look just as proud as Henry feels.

They all worked hard, he thinks, this is their victory, their accomplishment, as much as his.

He’s standing under one of the big windows, the shadows of the leaves of the tree right outside swaying softly, blades of light dancing around him. The plant he and his team have created looks out of place where it is, in a glass case in the middle of a giant room made of stone, the delicate-looking flowers that decorate it look like defenseless creatures kept prisoner. Henry knows better.

When he met Doctor Satler, years back, he did listen carefully to what she had to say about plants, about how they’re much more ‘alive’ than people make them to be, about the ways in which they defend themselves from danger. It had given him a new kind of respect for them, a new awareness. He made a point, when the project had just started, to give his flower any weapon it might need to survive, which is why it has to be kept separated from the outside world: it’s a vicious little thing, it’ll poison anything that tries to eat it, suffocate other plants in its search for light, and it’s incredibly resilient.

The scientific community hasn’t really approved of that. They wonder why Henry and his team haven’t spent their time and resources trying to create something useful, something helpful, some crop that would be easier to grow, more resistant, more generous, something of the sort. Of course, that will come, eventually, but you can’t create anything useful if you don’t try and destroy your limits first…

“That’s impressive”, says a voice.

Henry turns to see a man approaching him slowly, eyes on the crowd around the Wu Flower. He’s a tall, dark-skinned man with curly hair and a carefully groomed stubble. He’s wearing a suit that’s too simple and fits him too well not to be incredibly expensive; he left the jacket unbuttoned, and he’s not wearing a tie, which Henry envies him, right now. There’s something in the way he stands, straight but relaxed, that tells Henry he’s used to strut places and take control of the situation, whatever it is that’s going on.  
Henry may have spent the past few years virtually locked in his lab, but he knows enough about what’s going on in the world to recognize the man immediately.

“The crowd or the flower?”, he asks.  
“Both”, says the man, stuffing his hands in his pockets, still looking at the flower as he speaks, “I’m not sure I still can process that it’s something that’s never existed before now. Something brand new. It’s a peculiar sensation”, he says, then pauses a fraction of a second: “I’ve heard scientists have been… slightly over-critical of your creation.”  
“They’re always over-critical of things they aren’t brave enough or intelligent enough to do themselves”, comments Henry, with a little smirk. The man chuckles softly, eyes still studying the exhibit.  
“It’s a very beautiful flower”, he says, which strikes Henry as such an innocent remark to make.  
“Perhaps I should have given it a more fitting name”, says Henry, lightly. For some reason, he feels like every one of his senses is excessively aware of the presence of the man at his side, like his skin suddenly got a bit tighter.  
“I wouldn’t say that”, murmurs the man, his voice low and warm, “I think the name is pretty fitting as it is.”

 _Now_  he looks at Henry; an intense, curious look. Henry blinks at him for a moment, a bit surprised, then smiles at him, fully knowing he’s probably looking at the man with just as much interest as he’s being looked at. He’s got the weird, but _definitely_  not unpleasant, feeling that the man is the only person in the entire room looking at him and not at the flower.  
The man doesn’t break eye contact when he offers Henry his hand, and Henry does the same when he accepts it.  
“I’m Simon Masrani”, he says, “Nice to meet you”; his handshake is firm but gentle, no crushing attempts to establish who’s boss, there.  
“Henry Wu”, smirks Henry, holding on to his hand for a second longer than he usually would, “The pleasure is mine.”

*

There’s something about his eyes that makes Simon feel like he swallowed an ice cube. They’re pretty eyes, so dark he can’t tell the iris from the pupil, deep and unreadable. When he smiled, his eyes stayed cold and still.

He’s tiny, Doctor Wu, tinier than what Simon was expecting; but the way he speaks, the way he holds his head high, make him look more imposing than he is. And he looks _definitely_  more attractive in person, which is something Simon hadn’t considered, and it’s making him a bit nervous.  
He’s seen pictures, of course: John has showed him photos of the park and the people involved in its creation; Simon remembers Henry as a round-faced kid with short, spiky hair and a contagious grin. The doctor definitely grew up. His features look sharper, his expressions are more guarded. There’s a sort of chilly elegance in the way he bears himself that Simon did not notice in the pictures.

“John Hammond speaks very highly of you”, Simon says, casually, trying to tactfully guide the conversation his way.  
“I didn’t know John had any business with you, mister Masrani”, says Henry, “Communications and oil don’t really seem like his field.”  
“Oh, I approached him”, admits Simon “We have common interests”. His father always told him not to volunteer any information he could spare, but Simon has always had the bad habit of talking too much when intimidated, and there’s something _very_  intimidating about Henry. Maybe, Simon hopes, maybe it’s the knowledge this little guy works miracles and creates life. “He actually suggested I come here, today.”  
“Why so?”, asks Henry.

Simon takes a few steps closer to the exposition. It really is a pretty flower, delicate-looking, of an immaculate white that gently fades into deep purple close to the center of it.  
“Was the color intentional?”, he asks, turning around to give Henry a look. He didn’t move, Henry, but he does now, falling into place at Simon’s side.  
“Actually, it was a surprise”, says Henry, “I was expecting something more… garish. Venomous flowers tend to have brighter colors. I guess that’s as good a defense mechanism as any other”, he murmurs, looking up at Simon with yet another smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Letting people believe you’re completely innocuous, that is.”

He does _look_  harmless enough, the good doctor, but Simon isn’t inclined to believe he is. _Or_  that he’d do anything to trick people into thinking that he is. For some reason, that knowledge only intrigues him more.

“Why did John tell you to come?”, he asks. He’s got such a soft voice, so soothing and calm, almost sweet.

Simon could lie. He could say he’s still considering things, he could say there’s plenty of people he’s talking to apart from Henry, he could say a lot of things. But he knows, even now, that he could meet a thousand scientists, and his choice would still be Henry. His curriculum is impressive enough on its own, but Henry himself… he’s daring. He’s not scared to do what others might think crazy. He’s the man for the job, and Simon knows that lying to him, or keeping him waiting, won’t do either of them any good.

“He said I need you”, he tells him, feeling peculiarly vulnerable.  
There’s a small flash of surprise on Henry’s face, and Simon feels so incredibly satisfied he’s caught it; then his polite smile disappears and he just looks incredibly serious.  
“To do what?”, he asks, cautiously.  
It’s Simon’s turn to grin at him, trying to keep the excitement bubbling inside his chest under control.  
“To do something extraordinary”, he says, “Even more extraordinary than the first time you did it. To do it properly.”

Henry’s eyes go wide. He’s too smart not to understand, too smart not to know what the first thing that pops into people’s head is when they hear his name. He looks at the flower, at his flower, for a long moment, arms crossed against his chest. And, _come on_ , thinks Simon, _come on_.

“I would, hm…”, murmurs Henry, “I would need you to _let me_  do it properly.”  
“Anything you want. You’d be the one in charge in the lab, you’d have complete authority over your field.”  
“Would I be able to choose my own team?”  
“Of course”, says Simon.  
“Complete authority”, Henry repeats, and he doesn’t sound like a question, but Simon knows it is.  
“Complete authority”, he nods, “There would be general guidelines, obviously, but the lab would be your kingdom; you’d have carte blanche in there.”  
Henry nods thoughtfully, his face as unreadable as his eyes; then he turns towards Simon, gives him a long, intense look. “I’m in”, he says.


End file.
